


Sam and Puck

by Mynt



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Sex, Slash, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynt/pseuds/Mynt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Puck slash fiction. Sam secretly gets a job as a stripper to assist his family financially, but what happens when his old school crush witnesses his hidden occupation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam and Puck

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I ever published on FF, and as I will not be including any sex scenes in my other series, I've decided to edit my slash and upload it here. There chapters are fairly short, but I hope they are still enjoyable. Also, if you find any spelling or grammatical errors, please tell me (I am not the best editor).

The past few weeks had been rough for Sam. He and his family were kicked out of their house, and he had to take a part time job selling pizzas just to help his parents afford the rent of a meagre one-room motel. It sucked, hard. Only his faith, and the love of his family and friends kept his head above water. Once he realized that even though his possessions were fleeting, people were not, he was able to shift his perspective on the situation and allow a brief ray of sunshine in. But that feeling was just as fleeting as all the possessions he had lost. His dad got a job offer – one they couldn’t refuse in their current state – and the family had to move to Kentucky. Sam had to quit his part-time job, which he was okay with, but it also meant he had to change schools. He found he was wrong. People were not constant. His friends had forgotten about him quickly enough, and as much as he tried not to resent them for it, it hurt him a little. He could picture them, talking about him in Glee, or reminiscing in the olden days, but never once extending the thought enough to actually call.

In hindsight, maybe that was okay, because the second they asked him how life in Kentucky was he’d have to lie and pretend he wasn’t working as a stripper. It was ironic, considering he thought a pizza delivery boy was degrading. What’s more degrading than that? A stripper, or so Sam thought.

Sam didn’t circle all the ads in the paper with ‘stripper wanted’ with a thick red marker. It sort of just happened. He used his fake id to get into this gay club. He had always liked men, believe it or not (let’s not dwell on this fact, it’s there). The flatness of their chests and chiselled muscles were the only turn on for the promiscuous teen. His first visit, alone, had him a little timorous. Whether it was from being alone and underage, or finally stepping out into the gay community, he didn’t know. He averted his eyes from the man centre stage who was vibrating to the beat of the music so loud he could feel it in his bones. He ordered a drink to calm the nerves.

When the bartender came with his gin and tonic, he noticed the flyers for ‘erotic dancers’ littered around the bartop. He turned back to the man centre stage, only now noticing the cash being thrown at him. It rained, landing as green puddles of money at the man’s feet. Sam watched more to count the notes than to get off. By the looks of it, dancing just one hour a week would assist his family greatly. He tried to shake off his conscience. It didn’t matter if he earned his brother’s school uniform or his sister’s soccer jersey through dancing. Dirty money was still money.

Sam took a long swing from his glass, and slammed it back down with enough force to get the barkeep’s attention. He was wiping a tumbler with a dishcloth, waiting for Sam’s grimace to fade sohe would speak.

“So, does being a stripper pay well?” He tried to ask casually, as if he hadn’t answered the question for himself.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. He seemed to evaluate Sam, giving him a once over before finally asking: “You interested? ‘Cause you seem to be the right fit.”

Long story short, Sam is now a stripper, and fairly confident to say the least. Not that he was at the beginning, but being exposed to enthusiastic, generous callers changed you. Every night he performed monstrous tips were thrust at him from eager fingers, ones that would try to latch onto his arms as he accepted the cash. It wasn’t even as degrading as he thought it would be. To be honest, it was quite exhilarating. Most people were just normal guys, wanting to blow some cash. They weren’t allowed to touch, unless to give a well-deserved tip, so in this case the attention was flattering. Not to mention, Sam had quite a few stripper friends, and comparing moves backstage was rewarding enough to make him dance for free.

But there were some drawbacks. No one knew where he worked – he’d die if his family found out. He lied about his whereabouts to them most nights, and about his age to pretty much everyone else – a “young twenty-one” is what he called himself. It was probably why he got so many tips; he was embodying the fantasy of a schoolyard jock for most of his audience. Even though the fantasy was okay, an actual stripper Sam’s age was strictly illegal. Nevertheless, he wasn’t in any rush to go into retirement (not before he was even old enough to start stripping, at least) – especially since he was raking it in.

One night, after Sam had finished working the pole main stage, he was called over by the owner. His golden briefs from Rocky Horror were stuffed with notes, and he dried the sweat from his brow with a hand towel.

“A customer has requested a private show,” his manager stated.

“Sure thing,” he replied happily, exhaling the breath he was holding. He thought they were going to call into question his age, which is something they (rather neglectfully) never checked twice. Still, he’d been at this job long enough to appreciate how much private show-boaters earned. Other workers had managed to achieve lives of luxury from just a concentrated hour behind closed doors. Once, Henry had the luck of teasing a group of wealthy bachelors for a down payment on his used car. Sam draped his hand towel across his shoulders and walked into the allocated room, trying to look as seductive as possible.

He wondered who he would be attending to that evening. Would it be the fresh man from the front row? The slightly balding man who always wore plaid? Or the shy, barely-legal boy who had never seemed to miss one of his shows? Sam had seemed to have built quite a fan base. That was why, when windowless room was occupied by none other than Puck, he was shocked. The room was well lit, and the placement of the lights gave his old classmate an embellished glow.

He sat in the only chair in the room, grinning devilishly as Sam entered. “Evening, Lady Lips.”

Sam felt his heart beat in his throat. His seductive stance was replaced as he nearly shrunk in on himself. He didn’t want anyone to know he was a stripper – no one. Even though, if Sam was completely honest, he had always found Puck attractive. That stupid jock cliché did nothing but make Sam tingle. Besides, Puck had an alluring bad boy aura and more experience in bed than anyone else he knew. There was just one thing that bugged him.

“You requested a private show?” Sam interrogated.

“Is that a problem?” Puck replied, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket. “The pool cleaning business is booming lately, and the Puckasaurus wants a show.”

“But you’re the biggest womanizer at McKinley.” Sam’s brow furrowed. “Why do you want a show from a dude? From me?”

“Don’t question me!” Puck blurted loudly. He pulled a twenty dollar note from his wad of cash and put the rest back in his pocket. “Come and get it.” Puck held it out, and Sam looked at him weirdly. Usually he would make short work of it, until his clients were thrusting fistfuls of money for more, but it was slightly different when it was an old school buddy. Puck laughed to fill the silence. “Relax, dude. Isn’t this what a stripper normally does?”

Sam nearly laughed back, but he only managed an appreciative smile. He didn’t think Puck had to ask what a stripper normally did, but Sam advanced anyway. He reached out for Puck’s hands, and nearly clasped onto the note before his hands were swatted away.

“Nuh uh,” Puck teased, “Did I say you could use those?”

Sam sighed and locked his hands behind his back, grinning. The game was fun. Puck placed the note on his pouting lips, and Sam didn’t need any more encouragement. He leaned in to suck the note off Puck’s face, but it floated to the floor and two shared a full frontal kiss. Sam nearly had the urge to pull away as soon as he realized the surface adjacent his mouth wasn’t hard-earned cash, but Puck pulled him in closer, placing his hands on the back of Sam’s head in an affectionate embrace. Sam surrendered to his feelings of lust to reciprocate the kiss. They sucked at each other’s mouths for a full minute, Puck tangling his hands in Sam’s hair, feeling the knots and strays until he tugged to finally pull away. He bent down, breathing heavily, to pick up the twenty and slip it into Sam’s golden boxers.

“More of that and you’ll be wearing a belt of my money,” he said, grinning.

“Well, I guess I will then,” Sam replied seductively. Puck reached up for Sam’s jaw, but was pushed back. Instead, Sam switched on the boom box next to the chair, ready to begin the private show.

 


End file.
